


(In)Discretion

by thatotherperv



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Buffy s5 / the Glory hole (snerk), Episode Tag, Episode: s05e12 Checkpoint, F/M, Minor Canonical Character(s), Rare Pairings, Spike: the Fool for Love, Spike: the Slayer slayer, references to canon pairings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-05
Updated: 2007-07-05
Packaged: 2017-12-06 06:01:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatotherperv/pseuds/thatotherperv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike has a late-night visitor during Bs5 Checkpoint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(In)Discretion

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: Spike is obsessed with Buffy at this point, so he isn’t exactly noble. not that I think he is, often. heavily implied S/B, implied Aus/S, S/Dru, S/Harm
> 
> pre-note note: Basically, I was watching Bs5’s Checkpoint and all of a sudden I got the mad urge to pair Spike with the Watcher chick that wrote her thesis on him. Blame it on the blatant self-serving flirtation from Spike, and the blatant hero-worship vibe from her, and my secret kink for Spike or Angel fucking minor canonical characters. This was fun to write. 
> 
> note-note...note: Lydia the Watcher appears in Bs5’s Checkpoint, in which she flirts with Spike (or…is flirted with, while she blushes like a schoolgirl) and reveals that she wrote her thesis on him. She also has a brief appearance in Bs7’s Never Leave Me, in which she tragically gets blown to smithereens at the Council’s headquarters. I decided the girl deserved at least one really good shag in her life before she met her fate at the hands of the First. If you’d like to refresh your memory on what Lydia looks like, there’s a nice [“before”](http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/c/c8/Lydia_Chalmer_\(Buffyverse_character\).jpg/250px-Lydia_Chalmer_\(Buffyverse_character\).jpg) photo here…and because fucking Spike does a body good, why don’t we look at the [“after”](http://cynthialamontagne.com/images/cynthia_lamontagne_2.JPG) as well (same actress). Apparently some time back, some fans mocked up a copy of Lydia’s [Thesis on William the Bloody](http://www.channelingboards.com/SpikeThesis/), which is kinda cool so I thought I’d throw that link out there. The name of the Chinese slayer was yoinked from…I dunno, it was a comic or book or something else I haven’t read, because I was too lazy to make up a name for her myself. The final thing I’d like to point out is that I’m prone to long author’s notes, aren’t I?
> 
> original post [here](http://thatotherperv.livejournal.com/145214.html)

When it was all said and done, Spike knew that looking out for the Slayer’s mum and little sis wouldn’t gain him any appreciation. Didn’t matter how prettily she begged in the heat of the moment…so to speak…as soon as the danger passed, she forgot all about making calf eyes at him. Barely spared him a glance when she came to collect her family, and gave an unladylike snort when he sang out “you’re welcome!” as she marched out of the cemetery. 

Still…when the knock came in the small hours of the night, accompanied by a human heartbeat, he had the faint hope she’d seen the error of her ways. Showed just what a stupid sod he truly was.

Regardless of what he might have expected, he sure as hell hadn’t expected…. He blinked in surprise at the tweed-clad Watcher clutching her bag on his stoop. A wary glance around revealed no army of crossbow-bearing librarians. Just the one, minus crossbow. The girl who’d written her thesis on his exploits.

“Could I come in?”

He gave her a long look until she shifted uncomfortably, eyes dragging down her body and back. She’d changed from this afternoon, but it wasn’t as though she’d slipped into something more comfortable. Her body was stiff with anxiety from coming here alone…no Tweedle-Dum and Tweedle-Dee to hold him at bay.

As far as he could tell, she was unlikely to stake him.

He shrugged finally and retreated into the crypt, seating himself cross-legged on the big stone sarcophagus. He watched indifferently as she struggled with the heavy door, finally managing to shoulder it closed.

“So, luv. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company? Let you out of your cage, did they?”

She shifted her weight, back ramrod, eyes steady in a bid to present a confidence contradicted by her rapid pulse. “The Council is unaware of my visit.”

His lips curved at the haughty tone.

“Oooh. Naugh-ty watcher. Come for bragging rights, have you?” His grin left no question what she might have to brag about, and the blush that had been creeping up her cheeks since his first glance bloomed fully.

“No. Actually. I have questions…holes in my research that I’d like to fill. And I thought, as long as we’re staying the rest of the evening in Sunnydale…well…you do make the ultimate primary resource, and I thought—”

“That I might oblige you by fillin’ your holes?”

Face flaming even brighter, she cleared her throat. “Quite.”

He laughed and gestured her in. She was still perched by the door. “Could be persuaded. I do like to spin a good tale. And while we’re gettin’ better acquainted, what do they call you, pet?”

She thrust her hand at him nervously. “Lydia Abigail St. John-Smythe.”

Christ, had he ever presented people with his full name as if they gave a shit? 

“Pleased to meet you, Abby.” Her heart gave an enticing little trip at the name, but when he used the handshake to tug her forward, she dug in the heels of her ugly little pumps and leaned away. “C’mon, Watcher, you’re not afraid of little ol’ _me_ , are you?”

Her spine stiffened. “Our information suggests that you’re incapacitated…unable to harm humans.”

And that’s why they’d held him off with crosses and crossbows, shaking like little girls. He snorted mentally. “And you believe that, do you?”

She hesitated. “Yes.”

“Well then, no harm having a seat next to me, is there? Make yourself comfy.”

She studied the lid of the crypt. “It’s rather filthy, isn’t it?”

He leaned in conspiratorially. “Live dangerously.”

A barely-contained smile flitted across her face, something buried in this one, and then she graciously allowed him to help her up. Perching on the edge, she hooked one knee over the other primly and flipped open her tiny notebook.

“Let’s begin, shall we?”

“Oh, _let’s_.”

“In what year were you born?”

“Was turned in 1880, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“Born human.”

Spike frowned. Telling the Slayer about his nancy-boy past was one thing, but spillin’ it to the Watchers Council was an entirely different matter. “Let’s skip the human stuff, alright, luv?”

Her pen hovered over the paper, lips pursing. “…Alright.” She took a moment to smooth her ruffled feathers. “The slayer you murdered in 1900. We have no record as to what you were doing in China at the time.”

“Oh, the usual, really. Snapping necks, draining babies.”

She blinked. “I meant…why China in _particular_.”

“Oh. That. Believe it was Darla’s idea. She was wearing the proverbial pants at the time.”

“And Darla was your grand-sire.”

“Great-grandsire, actually.”

Her eyebrows creased with a frown and she flipped back through her notes. “Angelus wasn’t your sire?”

He winced at the direction of the conversation. “Not for the technical bitey bits, no.”

“So that would make Drusilla the vampire that turned you?”

“Yep. Got it in three.”

“Oh.” She frowned again, oblivious to his casual insult. She flipped madly through her notebook, obviously flustered by the misinformation. “We were sure it was Angelus. He was the one you claimed as your sire vocally on several occasions. He was seen training you, teaching you to hunt, disciplining you…he headed the household, clearly, and Drusilla was sometimes quite mad, but if she _was_ your sire, surely she’d have taken these responsibilities, unless Angelus had—”

Spike looked at her levelly, brow slightly cocked and a faint smile on his lips. Three-two-one—

“Oh. _Oh_.” She cleared her throat and scribbled something in her notebook. He tried to imagine the Watcher shorthand for that particular relationship, and snorted at all the possibilities come to mind. “It’s perfectly common, you know,” she reassured. “Nothing…nothing particularly odd….”

When she trailed off, he winked. “Ta, luv. And here I thought I was a dirty boy. I have nightmares, you know.” When she tried to ignore his comments, cheeks pinkening, he added helpfully, “If you’ve got a doll, I’ll show you were he touched me.”

She coughed, and for a moment, he was certain she meant to choke on her own tongue. She rallied though, consulting her notes and soldiering on.

“So…erm…you were in China at Darla’s behest. And then Angelus joined you—he had…he had been separated from the family group for nearly two full years. You’d gone your separate ways in the past, but never for that long, and Darla was the only one who ever embarked alone….”

Spike lit a cigarette. “Thought we were gonna talk about me, pet. Now I’m all insulted.”

“Oh. I didn’t mean to—”

“Kidding. _Mostly_ ,” he muttered. “Old man got strapped with the soul just before he disappeared the first time, didn’t he? Came back to us and tried to make a go of it, but Darla booted him out on his arse when he wasn’t a bad enough boy.”

She scribbled madly, nodding to herself. “Speaking of Angelus…some have a theory about the timing of your first slayer. While I do not _subscribe_ to this particular idea, I’d like to put the matter to rest, once and for all. Did Angelus assist you at all in killing your first slayer?”

Spike scowled. “Hell no!” Bloody Watchers. Bad enough that Buffy—

“Did he encourage you or prompt you in any way?”

His thoughts went back to that mineshaft in Yorkshire, and his first lesson on slayers. “No. Had absolutely nothin’ to do with it.”

She looked smugly pleased as she made note. “Told you so, you wanker.”

He barked a laugh over the muttered profanity. “What was that, luv?”

She blushed. “Oh, I just…had a disagreement with one of my colleagues. He believed Angelus to be an integral part of your first kill.”

“And you?”

“Knew that couldn’t be the case.”

He warmed to her instantly. “And why’s that?”

“The kill was slightly clumsy.” He frowned. “Brutal. Passionate. Spontaneous. In short, it spoke nothing of Angelus’ involvement and volumes about your own.”

Spike decided he liked this bird, ‘clumsy’ remark aside. He took a closer look at her, trying to envision the woman buried beneath all that tweed, but there was too damned much of it. “Passionate, am I?”

“ _Very_.” His eyebrows twitched up in amusement. “I meant to say…you’d have to be, wouldn’t you? To love the same woman for over a century.”

Now she _really_ had his attention. “Love, eh? And here I thought I was a soulless creature incapable of such feeling.”

“Officially, yes. And there are many within the Council that believe that to be the case.”

He considered her. “But you’re not one of them.”

Ms. Abigail St. Whatever avoided his eyes. “Not in your case, no.”

Bint had a bit of a crush on him, but he’d smelled that on her when they met. “I’m _evil_ , you know.”

She met his eyes sharply. “I’m not a fool. But evil men can love—Hitler was quite fond of his dog, wasn’t he?”

Spike chose to ignore the snide comparison between Dru and a drooling mutt. “Let’s not speak of _that_ bloody Kraut….”

She perked considerably. “You knew Hitler? My records show no indication…though I am aware that when you were in occupied Spain in 1943, you disappeared suddenly.”

“Not personally, no.” 

And wasn’t _that_ the last story he wanted to tell. No need to set her back on the Angelus warpath. 

“My turn to ask the questions.” When she frowned, he pushed forward. “Bit of tit for tat would buy my cooperation, don’t you think?”

“…I suppose….”

“Good. Now this bun of yours must be givin’ you a real headache. My Dru used to complain of that, at society affairs when Darla pulled it back too tight. Why don’t we shake it out and get you more comfortable, hmmm?”

“… _That’s_ your question?”

“Not exactly selfless, am I? What bloke doesn’t fancy the sight of a pretty women?”

She grasped for words, flustered.

“I’m right aren’t I? Hurts like hell, I’ll bet. Long day, and all that stress.” 

She nodded silently, stiffening when he reached over without further permission to unfasten her hairdo with his unoccupied hand, cigarette held low against his thigh. The pins pinged against the cement as he tossed them…the sound nearly concealed by the more rapid tattoo of her heart.

He ran his fingers through the artificial waves, fluffing and shaping. As they tumbled around her shoulders, he felt satisfied that he had been right—it was a near enough color to Buffy’s in the dim light, and while it would normally be straight as a pin, its long confinement gave it that certain… _bounce_ that made the Slayer look like a bloody shampoo commercial….

“It’s lovely, pet.”

“Yes…well….” Her hands fluttered self-consciously. “It needs a trim, actually, but….”

“Nah, it’s perfect. Wouldn’t change a thing.”

Her cheeks heated. “…No?”

“No.” When he brushed it back over the nearest shoulder, Spike deliberately grazed her neck with his fingertips, and she shivered. “Was there anythin’ else you wanted to ask me?”

“S-sorry?”

He smirked. “Was there anything else you wanted to pick my brain about on Slayer #1.”

“Oh! Yes….” The considerable flipping of pages. “We—we know that you approached Nikki multiple times before the fight where you took her life…you stalked her for months, toyed with her. We have no record of such a thing with Xin Rong….”

He assumed that was the bint in China. “You’d be right, then. Only met her the one time, didn’t even know her name. Met her, fought her, killed her. Jus’ like that.”

“Why change—” She faltered when he slipped the glasses from her nose, folded them and set them aside, eyes focusing on him with perplexity. 

“Just wanted to get a look at you, luv. Go on.”

“…Why did you change tactics? If the direct approach worked with the first slayer, why spend so much time on the second? You’ve never been known for a great store of patience.”

She was pretty, actually, in an unconventional way. Wide, full mouth. Now that he’d removed the heavy frames, her eyes were revealed to be a lovely shade of green—not hazel like Buffy’s, but…light…. 

Close enough.

“Had nearly eighty years between them, didn’t I? With the first I was young…didn’t know how to savor a good thing. Just in it for the payoff, yeah, like all young studs. By the time Nikki came around, I’d learned that the anticipation could make the final thrust—so to speak—that much more satisfying. Why don’t you slip off those shoes, Abby?”

Her heart was already skipping along from the innuendo, but it tripped outright at the suggestion. “I….” She stared at her feet. “My shoes? I don’t think….”

Spike chuckled, feeling the thrill of heat it sent through her. “And they said the Victorians were prude. C’mon, pet, it’s late. Promise I won’t go mad with lust at the sight of your toes. On your feet all day…bet it would feel good….”

When she hesitated still, he pushed himself off the tomb and lifted one ankle, slipping away the shoe, smoothing out her stockings and applying pressure with the pads of his thumbs to the base of her foot that bore most of her weight in heels. She made a strangled little sound of pleasure and impropriety, and when she tried to pull her foot away, he wouldn’t let her.

“So, what else is plaguin’ that big brain of yours?”

“Ahh….” The high hum of anxiety from being touched melted away the longer he massaged. He watched curiously as a blush crept over her. “There’s a rumor…unconfirmed to the Council’s knowledge…about the…effects that a slayer’s blood may have on a vampire.” She avoided his eyes. “It’s been a topic of discussion amongst…certain circles, that you would be in a good position to confirm or deny….”

He grinned and removed her other shoe, tickling her foot until he got her attention. “Might help if you explained the exact nature of this rumor….?” he posed innocently.

She bit her lip as he hit a particularly sore spot on her sole. “Supposedly the blood has an aphrodisiac effect that makes vampires in particular…quite amorous.”

“Is that so?”

He watched her work herself into a tizzy over the topic as he ran his thumbs along the arch of her foot. Her toes curled. “I don’t know… _is_ it?”

Blame it on her obvious adoration, but he was feeling coy. “Might explain a thing or two, yeah.”

“…A thing or two?” She was on the edge of her proverbial seat. Didn’t even flinch when Spike felt up her calf and lingered behind her knee. He leaned in, bracing his hands on either side of her thighs. Fascinated as she was, she still leaned back slightly, trying to maintain a distance.

“Mmm. The feeling I got after. Didn’t think much of it at first. Feedin’ always gets the passions high…makes you warm…makes you horny. But this was beyond that…like my skin itched, you know…just hot all over. Cock was hard as nails, and the impulse to shag was so strong…lucky thing for me Dru came along, or I might have become a necrophiliac in a more traditional sense, if you catch my drift.”

Her eyes were wide and she smelled lovely, hanging on his every word. Did wonderful things for a bruised ego, it did. He had the sense that she’d kick herself later for forgetting to scribble all this down in precise detail.

“And then that first shag…it was phenomenal. Far better than cocaine or ecstasy or any of a hundred things we’ve dabbled in over the years. Hours of non-stop shaggin’, and I must have come…five, six times before I finally went soft. Thought my brain was gettin’ blown out the back each time, too…intensity like you wouldn’t _believe_. That was a red-letter day, I tell you.

“Course, I might have just written it off to the high of the kill and my own exceptional stamina if it hadn’t been for the rest.”

“…The rest?” she inquired weakly.

“Yeah. Could hardly keep our hands off one another in the burning streets, and then we were at it again. Shagged like that for five days, we did. Cock was all chafed by the end, but bloody hell, I didn’t care. So I’d guess it _is_ an aphrodisiac, wouldn’t you?”

He waited with an earnest expression for her to recover, once he was done sayin his piece. When he received only dazed silence, he offered: “I could tell you what our regular fucks were like, if you need a control sample, or the like.”

That snapped her out of it. She cleared her throat. “No, I believe that’s unnecessary. I believe I have enough to—”

“Or I could show you.”

_Thu-thunk thu-thunk thu-thunk thu-thunk_

“…Excuse me?”

His hand returned to the hollow of her knee, stroking there before teasing upward, under the hem of the fitted knee-length skirt. “Know you’ve thought about it. All those hours in some sunless library, starin’ at me in daguerreotypes and photographs…reading all about my wild, impulsive exploits and the way everyone says I’m sex on legs….”

She arched a finely shaped brow, though he could see that she was shaken. “ _Someone’s_ full of himself.”

He laughed low at the show of pluck, tilting his head and teasing her. “Weren’t wrong though, were they?”

She didn’t answer and she didn’t need to. Her body was telling him everything he needed to know.

“Have to be a little bit in love with your research, don’t you? To commit yourself for so long? All those hours, all that effort, all that heartache? Can’t help but be in love by the end, if you don’t despise it.”

“I know what you were!” she blurted suddenly.

Spike was thrown completely off his game. He blinked at her, hand stilled on her stocking-silky thigh. “Beg pardon?”

“I know all about you, as a human. That you were a gentleman and a scholar and a good man.”

He blinked at her, caught between denying it and just…gawking. In the end, that was all he could do.

“I had this theory,” she continued eventually, when he just gaped at her like a fish. “This very strong feeling. I researched it forever, pouring through old portraits from the time, in London—everything I could get my hands on—and then I found you. A bit…softer, but it was still your face. William Pennington. Your mother was a lovely woman.”

He was utterly dumbstruck. He withdrew his hand, bracing himself against the stone. 

The first thing that came to mind was inane. “If you know who I am, you must already _know_ the year I was born.”

“…Yes. And I also know that your mother, with whom you were very close, disappeared shortly after you did.”

His eyes rounded. 

And then it really hit him what her knowledge meant…that all this was being kept for posterity. He grabbed her up by the lapels of her jacket, snarling into full fang and enjoying the spice of fear. “You’ll destroy it. How many know?”

He might be neutered, but he’d find a way to kill every last one of them.

Her heart fluttered against her rib cage, instinct prevailing over reason. “I left that out of my dissertation.”

Spike paused and drew back, surprised again. “Which part?”

“All of it…everything before you were turned. It’s not customary to concern oneself with the subject’s human life anyway. According to the Council, the human is inconsequential once the demon takes over.”

He shook her again for good measure. “You’re lying.”

She actually came across vaguely insulted. “Of course I’m not! Why on earth would I lie about that?”

He gave her a _look_.

“Oh, _please_ , you can’t kill me anyway. I’m telling the truth.” Whatever her bluster, her hands trembled on her notebook and pen. He shook off his anger and took the items away, setting them with her glasses. 

He turned back with narrowed blue eyes. “And why would you do that? A bit juicy to keep to yourself, innit? One of the most infamous vampires in history, a big bleeding ponce?”

There was a long silence, but she never looked away. 

“You wouldn’t want it in print.”

Spike scoffed. “So we’re granting professional consideration now, are we?”

She looked offended…incredulous. “I’m not sure who ‘we’ are, _William_ , but _I_ couldn’t publish the secrets of a man who had clearly gone to great lengths to bury—”

He kissed her. Not just for her discretion, but for calling him a man, at a time when he had to fight for every shred of dignity he had. And he was slightly surprised, after his outburst, to realize she was primed for it. Opened her mouth under his and accepted the thrust of his tongue, going limp like a kitten when he took a strong grip on her hair.

She sure as hell didn’t struggle when he took hold of her hip and slid her closer to the edge, pressing closer and bunching her skirt further up her thighs.

It wasn’t until after he broke the kiss that he twigged to the source of her unexpected enthusiasm. His mouth found her neck, hands cupping her waist, and when his teeth scraped against her throat, he caught the wave of arousal that he’d been too enraged to notice when he threatened her earlier. 

He wanted to laugh…and in fact, he did—darkly, against her throat. He wondered, for the first time, if some of the hard and fast traits of a slayer applied to stuffy, tweed-coated watchers as well.

His teeth caught her earlobe, tongue playing around her earring. “Got a bit of a death wish, don’t you luv.”

Her breath was uneven. “You can’t hurt me.”

“Hence, just a ‘bit.’ You want to feel it, don’t you? Wasn’t just the pretty face God gave me that made you hot, was it?” He changed against her ear, and felt the thrill of excitement shiver through her. “Maybe it’s the face of the demon you’re really after.”

Her breath was fast, cheeks flushed, eyes dilated. Spike would think it was fear…if he didn’t know better. If the smell of her wet wasn’t ticklin his nose, seductive. When he grinned in full-fang, her eyes dropped to his mouth with a little sound he doubted she was conscious of. Women like Lydia St. John-Smythe did not whimper…they lay back and thought of England.

Or, they used to, at any rate. She seemed to be a new breed.

He had to melt back to his human face when he leaned in and caught her mouth…damn chip. Should have been able to fuck her like a proper vampire, if that’s what she wanted (hell, even if it wasn’t)…drawing blood from mouth and neck…tit…thigh…. She’d thank him for it if he could.

Though if he could, it would be moot, wouldn’t it? As she had pointed out a number of times, she was no fool. It was the illusion of danger she wanted. Not the reality.

Any rate, the bint was probably unprepared for him to push aside the crotch of her panties and plunge two fingers inside just like that, but she, of all people, knew he was an impatient sod, and Christ, she was wet for him. He hauled her to the edge of the tomb, fucking her quickly with his digits, just this side of rough. She groaned for him, grew wetter, began to sweat…scent growing heavy and musky and faintly metallic…polite flowery perfume fading in favor of something nearly unpleasant. He huffed in the scent, cock growing harder…this was what had been missing in all his games with Harmony…the _humanity_. The heat and thrum and stink of human sex. No vampire could smell as good as a human female in heat.

Spike’s shirt was over his back and half off his head before he registered the girl’s intention. He laughed and pulled back to toss it away.

She got over her shyness right quick, didn’t she? Still overdressed, though.

He trailed his finger over the buttons of her blazer, tongue pressing playfully against the roof of his mouth. “Gonna show me yours?”

Course, in the end, he took the self-guided tour. More fun that way…joy of adventure, and all that rot. And a long tour it was. So many layers required, apparently, to be proper. Not as many as you saw in his day, but far more than he was accustomed to these days. Christ knew some of Harm’s clothing barely constituted _one_ layer. 

_Too_ many. Jacket and blouse and chemise and bra. Skirt and slip and girdle and hose and panties…rather oversized ones. The girdle threw him—she had a lovely figure, if a bit meaty—but then again perfectly slender women deformed themselves in the name of fashion in his day, so there was no reason with these things.

When he stripped all the Watcher away, she was a beautiful woman. Bit more stacked than Buffy, and a bit paler, but she was in terrific shape. Same athleticism to her frame—not that you’d know it from outside her clothing. Damn shame to hide a body like this, though he supposed Watching was a bit of an old boys’ club and a girl did what she could in a work-a-day world.

She wrapped back around him when he sucked one nipple into his mouth, rubbing herself against the crotch of his jeans…quite the goer, once you got her started. Hands on her ass, he staggered back toward his armchair, collapsing back into it and moaning when she ground against him, riding his lap roughly.

He closed his eyes for a moment, pretending it was a little blonde slayer whimpering her enthusiasm as she rubbed herself off against his cock. He moaned, head dropped back against the chair.

His eyes were still shut when she backed off of his lap, unzipped his fly, and wrapped her lips around his cock.

“Aw, fuck—” _notBuffynotBuffy_ —“Abby….”

This was the way it should be. He wrapped his hand into honey-colored hair and directed her head. Not him chasin’ after Buffy like a bleeding puppy, making a fool of himself. He knew he was being a prat. _She_ should be lusting after _him_ …the Big Bad. _She_ should be on her knees, pretty back arched while she sucked him off like it was the key to attaining perfect bliss, leaving little smudges of berry-colored lipstick all over him with those cock-sucking—

He gasped and eased the girl’s head away from his lap, before he got his rocks off from that very tempting image. “Why don’t we…floor can’t be very comfy, luv, why don’t you come…kneel up here. There’s a girl.”

He stood and positioned her in his seat, facing the back of the chair. Pretty little ass presenting itself to him. He was so tempted to smack it, paint it red with his palm while she cried for him and arched up like a kitten.

Too bad he didn’t fancy a blinding headache.

So instead he kicked away his jeans and braced a knee against the chair, leaning one hand against the back and wrapping the other around her waist as he sank in balls-deep. He groaned at the _heat_ —delicious change of pace from Harm—and when he sucked along the neck she’d exposed for him, she gasped, sighed, _clenched_ , and his mind helpfully supplied the image that had been regularly withdrawn from the wank bank for years.

 _squeeze you till you pop_ …

Guess who’s doing the riding this time, you bloody tease?

And it wasn’t the shy poet that Miss Abigail wanted, was it…it was the beast…so he didn’t hold much back as he pumped into her, chair shaking under the effort. She bit her lip and breathed hard, little panting, begging noises escaping her throat, and Spike nipped at her flesh, pounding into her harder, as hard as he could without hurting her.

She arched her back and begged for more, glowing with sweat.

It was perfect…just like his fantasy, even if it was the wrong girl. He cupped her breast and brushed his mouth along her shoulder, tasting salt…caught her ear between his teeth and groaned when she eagerly slammed her hips back into his, fingers tightening on the cushion. 

“Do you have any idea how many women I’ve taken just like this…made to whimper and moan and come before I sank my teeth in and drank down the death throes of their slick, overheated bodies—”

Her muscles seized down hard on his cock and she shouted his Christian name, soaking his cock, and he laughed, delighted. A white hat, coming to tales of massacre.

“Not William, luv. Most definitely Spike in the driver’s seat, yeah?”

She leaned heavily on one arm as he ran his hands down her slick back, holding her hips as he thrust. He could make Buffy weak for him like this, if she’d give him a chance…. He spread Abby’s cheeks…one more tempting fantasy….

When he sucked on his middle finger and eased it through the virgin pucker to the second knuckle, she made a long, throaty moan that rattled something deep in his bones. Then another, and another, until Spike felt his balls drawing up and tightening…hips churning urgently.

“Touch yourself.”

And she did…forehead resting on her wrist along the chair’s back, fingers rubbing and twisting at her clit as she moaned harshly, breath ragged, until her body was wracked with another orgasm.

Spike ground himself against her and let go to the pretty image of another girl and another time…swallowing Buffy’s name with an incoherent sound.

He settled them into the chair, collapsing back into it and pulling her into his lap, eyes sliding closed with contentment, hands roaming possessively. Letting himself pretend. It was a lot easier without Harmony’s incessant babble, and when Abby’s head dropped tiredly against his shoulder, breath feathering over his throat, he shuddered out a wishful sigh.

When a shiver ran through her cooling body, he rubbed a hand over her arm. Probably chilly in here, to a human.

He felt a pang of…not guilt, because that wasn’t his bag. Maybe pity, for using her this way. Unlike Harm, he actually liked this one. Respected her. It rang false, telling himself that she’d just been using him as well, here to fuck the legend and not the man.

But that didn’t stop him from holding her a little longer, pretending her frame was more petite, her scent earthier.

Eventually he eased her away, mindful that sunrise was coming.

“You should probably go, luv. My…another vamp I know should be along any time now, and she’s got no leash, yeah? Not the swiftest one, any way you slice it, but she could get the drop on you.”

He watched from his seat as she dressed. Only the necessary layers went on, the rest stuffed in her unusually large handbag along with her research supplies, and she avoided looking at him again, slightly self-conscious.

She looked all rumpled and shagged, and scarcely at all like the same woman who had walked through his door earlier. 

She wasn’t a bad sort, for what she was.

“C’mere, pet.” 

He had to pull her to him. She was somewhat stiffer now that she was clothed, but she allowed him to settle her into his naked lap.

He inhaled deeply. She reeked of him. It was satisfying on some very deep level. The idea of keeping her was tempting. He had a bit of rope….

“Wanted to thank you for your discretion,” he began finally. “About William. Means a lot to me. You have anything else you wanted to ask, pet? Whatever you like. I’ll trust you on whether or not it makes it into the history books.”

She was quiet.

“Not a question, no. But I have something I need to say to you.”

That gave him pause. “Alright….”

“Be careful with the Slayer.”

He stared at her.

“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, luv. I can hold my own.”

“If you insist. But be careful. Buffy will never be what you want her to be. She’s just not able.”

Eventually he found his tongue. “And just what is it I supposedly want her to be?”

She gave him a steady look, then dropped a kiss on his mouth and left…heels clicking against the cold cement.

He stared off into the dark for a long time. Alone again.


End file.
